The Silverware Shine
by rulefabulously
Summary: Blaine meets Sebastian the summer before his senior year. Unfortunately, things progress from there. Diner AU.


**Blaine meets Sebastian the summer before his senior year. Unfortunately, things progress from there.**

**canon up until Silly Love Songs, except that Blaine's a senior, and Sebastian exists. it's all flushed out, and will be porny at some point.**

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maybe there's something you're afraid to say, or someone you're afraid to love, or somewhere you're afraid to go. it's gonna hurt. it's gonna hurt because it matters.

- john green

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one. _ran away in her sleep_

As Blaine pulls into a parking spot of the Olympic Diner, he has a distinct feeling that he should be somewhere else. Blaine has never actually eaten at a real diner before; he'd grown up around his self-proclaimed-classy brother Cooper who felt himself far more proper than Blaine, and couldn't be bothered to dine anywhere where the price range was at all achievable for the standard family. The Andersons, however, were anything but standard, and his father made that clear to his sons, telling them that they were superior and didn't ever need to feel that they needed to go without. Blaine never really felt that way, but pretended he had for a very long time. Blaine pretended a lot of things, actually.

He hasn't seen Cooper since once he left for NYU in 2008 to peruse his acting dream, one that his father fully supported, always bragging about how Cooper was "the star of the family". This obviously excused him from any and all family gatherings and left Blaine to field inappropriate innuendos and questions at Christmas and Thanksgiving by himself from his Conservative extended family.

Blaine turns the ignition off and sits in his quiet car for a moment, observing the diner in front of him. It's not particularly dumpy, surprising for the area it's in, its sign lit up, harsh against the dark sky. It looks like defiance to Blaine.

He wishes, for a private, quiet moment that he weren't alone right now. He could text Wes, or Thad, but Wes was probably enjoying being at home with his girlfriend, and Thad mentioned that his older sister was coming home from college this weekend, and they had a much less strained relationship than he had with Cooper.

Blaine pointedly ignores the voice in his head that says, quietly but with untapped fervor, Kurt. But no, the last time he saw Kurt was that day at the Lima Bean, where Kurt had told him that he wanted to be the one that Blaine sang to and Blaine admitted things he promised himself he wouldn't ever let outside of the small, contained box in his head, labelled with Kurt's name in small, shaky letters.

Asking Kurt to go out to eat with him, Blaine reasons, is too much too soon. This conversation had only happened two days ago, and they've been walking on eggshells around each other at school. They stick to safe subjects as they walk to class, around each other, next to each other, but certainly not with each other. He feels like if he asked Kurt to accompany him, it would be sending the wrong message. And honestly, Blaine was telling an integral, personal, secret truth when he told Kurt "I don't want to screw this up". Blaine has screwed up more things than he can count, but Kurt - Kurt is something more. He's far more important, the precipice of something bigger than he can see, the glistening tip of an iceberg waiting to be fully explored.

But not yet. Not now. So he shrugs off his blazer, loosens his tie from its noose around his neck, and gets out of his dark blue '98 Sedan that his father bequeathed to him as a "gift" when he turned 17. But when Blaine looks at the car, all he thinks is how, when Cooper got his license, his father took him to the shop and bought him a new model candy apple red Mustang convertible. Just another reason why he is less important, less worthy, than Cooper Anderson.

He walks up the steep, concrete steps and looks into the large picture windows. He sees mostly women bustling around in maroon shirts and black aprons. There are many patrons, mostly families, seated and laughing, seeming to be enjoying the food, or the conversation, Blaine couldn't really tell. He didn't pay much mind to the thought anyway. He opened the double doors, and was immediately assaulted with the smells of french fries and yelling coming from all directions. "Mama! Mama, table 5 needs refills!" "Fill 'em yourself, Luce!" "I'm trying!"

An older woman looking to be about in her late-50s with greying hair and a tired smile comes up to him and greets him with a pat on his shoulder, like she's known him her whole life. She says, "just you tonight, doll-in?" and Blaine feels as if he's walked into a 50s movie and, for once, he's the protagonist.

"Y-yes, just me." Blaine stutters out, trying to ignore the blush threatening to bloom on his cheeks. She gestures for him to follow her, and he admires her. She seems to be limping, but she walks faster than any person should be able to. Blaine gives her a smile when she stops at a table and ushers him in to the small booth. "Just water?" she asks, her accent indescribable and nearly indecipherable.

"Uh, yeah, for now." She pulls a menu seemingly from thin air and plops it down in front of him before ruffling his hair which had already fallen loose from the long day running around at Dalton. She walks away and leaves him to study the menu. There were a lot of choices, and the prices were moderately low, which pleased him, glad he would be able to use his own money and not his father's credit card. He hears something being put down on the table, and looks up to see a glass of water in front of him and no waitress in sight.

Blaine had been craving bacon for about two solid weeks, and he scours the menu for sandwiches. He finds what he's looking for, grilled cheese with tomato and bacon, but the name, usually titled 'Happy Waitress', has been crossed out in sharpie and over the laminate, 'Sassy Waiter' is written in in large print on top of it. Blaine quirks an eyebrow just as the light is obtruded above him by a tall, slender shadow. Blaine looks up to see a boy that couldn't be much older than he is with very sharp features and hair taller than even Kurt's. His left eyebrow is curved upwards and there's a small smirk playing on his features. His hands are on his slim hips, and Blaine wills himself not to look down. His name tag says Sebastian, and he looks a lot how running away feels; the concept of being so close but with the intention of being much farther than that.

"What can I get you tonight, sunshine?" Blaine's jaw drops, and he stammers out something that was supposed to be "Happy Waitress", but is unintelligible even to his own ears. The boy gives a short clipped laugh before quipping back "English this time, buttercup?"

Blaine is off his game. He has never been so blatantly flirted with before and is so used to reading between the rigid lines of friendly conversations with men, searching for a sign, anything that could point to an interest in him. But with all these nicknames, the searing hazel eyes that feel like matches on his skin, Blaine feels exposed. And when Blaine feels vulnerable, he has trained himself to put his guard up. He is so used to his sexuality being a reason to be mocked that he immediately knows to be on the defense when someone is flirting. He steels himself, clears his throat, twists his fingers together tightly, fisting all his insecurities into them.

"I'd like a Happy Waitress and a coke." Blaine looks at him with dead eyes and tries not to flinch when the boy dramatically cocks his hip to one side, raises his eyebrow impossibly higher.

"I'm sorry, I don't think we have a Happy Waitress on the menu." Blaine looks down, brows furrowed, and sees again, the all caps harsh, black print: Sassy Waiter.

"I-I guess - Sassy, Waiter?" Blaine looks up for conformation and see Sebastian smile widely down at him, eyes earnest. Blaine has learned from experience to be distrustful of the earnest.

"Oh, we definitely have a Sassy Waiter, babydoll." He leans down into Blaine's space, slouching his shoulders and leaning his weight into his palm flat down against the table, slender hip jutting out. Blaine notices how large his hands are, and he shrinks back into the booth, trying not to visibly cower, but he's certain that he's failing. He's embarrassed that he had thought, even fleeting, of that hand against his cheek, waist, cock. Blaine feels his flush replace with fear on his face, and even the most trained masks usually can't hide fear.

"Yeah," Blaine says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "That." The boy stands straight up and his amused, carefree expression suddenly morphs into a blank mask. Blaine feels responsible, ashamed for reasons that only frustrate and confuse him further.

"I'll get right on that." Blaine's eyebrows knit together.

"Aren't you gonna write it down?" Sebastian turns around and the smirk is back, but with less torrid, determined intensity.

"As if I could forget you, sugar toast." He winks, and turns, hips swaying, impossibly long legs carrying him across the room, into a flurry of maroon aprons and genuine smiles. Blaine feels bruised, rubbed raw, and he drops his head into his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his cheekbones, trying to rid the bloom of embarrassment. The tickle in his stomach as the Sebastian's smile flashes though his head feels too important to be comfortable, and it crashes through his spine like lightning, feels it in the spaces of his ribcage, expanding to fill the spaces his hummingbird heart left behind.

"_Shit_."


End file.
